


Indoor Voices

by JTJonah



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: M/M, long story short they swive, swiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTJonah/pseuds/JTJonah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So they had just broken into a tomb in the middle of nowhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indoor Voices

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for the swive came from otherworldviolet, in their fic Hold Your Colour.
> 
> [Swive: the blending of two or more spirits for fun and profit. Only advisable to attempt with a spirit of both a similar level and a strong force of personality.]
> 
> You can blame them, and also go read their stuff!

So they had just broken into a tomb in the middle of nowhere. Literally, in the middle of nowhere. To put this in perspective, the Valley of Kings in Egypt lies just over the cliffs to the west of Deir el-Bahri, where the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut still stood. So many kings here were buried deep underground, with nothing to mark where their bodies lay. It was a far cry for sure from the large and imposing pyramids built long before, on the backs of enslaved spirits. It turned out in the long run that building such a resplendent and opulent home for your final resting place was akin to placing a neon sign over your head screaming ‘ROB ME.’

Not that these measures in the end helped either; tombs were still robbed, with gangs of robbers even going so far as to tunnel their way in through the back so as to leave the seal at the entrances unbroken. When you bury yourself with gold, these things are to be expected.

Funnily enough, it was through one of these still intact tunnels that Faquarl and Jabor were able to make their way inside. They crept through silently; well Faquarl was, at least. Jabor was another story.

He may be many things, but ‘subtle’ was assuredly not one of them. Not that he wasn’t trying to be – and oh god was he trying. His footsteps were just _loud_.

Faquarl craned his neck around in reserved annoyance.

“…Jabor?”          

“YE – OH WAI – YEah?”

“Generally on a job like this, restraint is considered key.”

“…Who’s going to hear us anyway? The rotting meatbags?” Jabor answered back irritated, though he stayed now at a tolerably room level volume.

“I’m sorry Jabor, I almost forgot that you HAVE done some work in Egypt. My apologies, but are you entirely aware as to what magical security was placed in these tombs? Because I haven’t the faintest clue. Such information would be of GREAT service right about now. So, any ideas…?”

“Uhm. No?”

“Well then, there’s your problem,” Faquarl said snorting with derision. He turned back around, and began walking forwards again.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Jabor you freshly shaken can of carbonated soda.”

“DON’T YO –” Jabor shut his mouth again, hearing his voice reverberate through the tunnel. His face turned an interesting shade of purple as he held in his unchecked anger.

“I think you’re starting to get the hang of this ‘indoor voice’ thing now. My point anyway, is that _I_ don’t know what traps they’ve rigged throughout this tomb, and _you_ don’t know either, and neither did the magician who sent us here in the first place! Sending us here with no context, no information, nothing of any use or substance at all!”

“I get the idea now.”

“I swear he has cauliflower festering in his skull instead of a brain…”

“THE – I MEAn…the what?”

“I was being facetious.”

“Oh.”

“…Jabor?”

“What?”

“You know.”

“HHHHHHHHHHG…” Jabor furrowed his brow in exasperation. “FINE.”

“Thank you. I’ll spare you the epithets, for now.”

“UGH.” By then, they had finally reached the end of the tunnel, and stopped slowly.

“Well, this certainly is the grave itself now. Oh, and there are skeletons piled up at the opening of the hole. Inviting, isn't it?”

“SURE.”

“No need to wake up the dead.”

“mmmmmgh.”

“Let’s set up a shield and throw a stick at it.”

“What?”

“Ah, and here would be just the stick. Ready?”

“…Well I set up the shield.”

“Good work,” Faquarl said, lobbing the stick over at the opening.  For a short while there was silence. Then, from beyond the black space, a glowing green bulb of light slowly floated through. As it drew closer to the makeshift hole, it suddenly accelerated while expanding, letting out a particularly repellent hiss as it did. It was then that a bright green cloud erupted, burning the air around the shield.

“…Well that explains the skeletons.”

“Mmhm. A good pestilence does tend to have that effect on human flesh,” Faquarl nodded, wrinkling his nose. Safe as they were, the noxious smell still permeated throughout the tunnel. Meanwhile, the cloud continued to rage around the boundaries they had set up.

“How long does this thing go for anyway?”

It was at that moment that the pestilence blew itself out, as suddenly as it had appeared. A good thing too; the heat was only beginning to swelter. A moment passed.

“If only the smell would go away now,” Faquarl muttered, sending out a pulse. The small blue green sphere floated in, meandering for another short period of time. On its return, the pulse was a strong orange, though thankfully not streaked with red. So there was indeed more magic to come inside there. Seems this fellow had some importance; or maybe just money. He didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care. Gingerly, Faquarl stepped over the skeletons, with Jabor following behind.

Once they were inside the tomb they stopped once again. Faquarl frowned, as he surveyed the insides. Funny, there wasn’t anything at all. Not even the usual mess of undead hordes to leave Jabor to deal with. He didn’t like it at all.

“…Well this is quiet.”

“Stay here for a second while I check further. Don’t touch anything.”

“Got it.”

“Feel free to punch anything I accidentally set off though.”

“I can handle that.”

Silently, Faquarl checked over the insides of the tomb one last time, taking care not to touch anything. It was a sumptuous burial to be sure. The paint on the walls had also managed to stay intact, and nothing had been looted. Seems as if the seal on the actual entrance had held too. Odd.

“…There’s nothing.”

“That’s bad.”

“Damn right that’s bad. None of these grave goods are giving off magical pulses either.”

“Maybe it’s in the sarcophagus?”

“Most likely. Which is unfortunate, given the fact that the item we’ve also been tasked to retrieve is _also_ supposedly inside this sarcophagus. How utterly wonderful.”

“Didn’t he give us anything else to work with?”

“Nope.”

“Asshole.”

“Basically,” Faquarl said, walking up tentatively to said sarcophagus. This was already much too supposedly easy for his comfort. Jabor walked up next to him as well, giving the thing a curious look.

“So, should I just...open it now?”

“By all means; I set up another shield just in case. Might as well get it over with, I suppose.”

Jabor nodded, and with barely any strain ripped the lid of the sarcophagus off unceremoniously, flinging it to the side. A pause; still nothing.

“Nothing. Not even a second Pestilence to -”

Suddenly they were falling.

* * *

 

“…Jabor?”

“YEAH?”

“I believe we have found the source of the magic from before.”

“WELL NO FUCKIN’ SHIT.”

They were at the bottom of a walled in pit. Of _course_ they were at the bottom of a walled in pit. Who could have possibly not seen this coming?

“Back up the sarcasm bus a bit there. Can’t you change into something smaller at least?”

“CAN’T YOU?!”

“Well now that you mention it…” Faquarl frowned, noticing for the first time an unusual rigidness to his essence. He’d never actually had to concentrate on shifting before, but there was something about the buzz down below that made everything sluggish. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

I DIDN’T THINK SO.”

“Well at the very least shift a bit so that I can move.”

“FINE.”

Several adjustments later, and they had managed to settle on the least awkward of all possible seating arrangements; the space was still impossibly dark, and left impossibly little room. Faquarl silently cursed the fact that they had entered into the room in more humanoid guises, as opposed to something smaller and more compact. That had been mostly his own idea as well; in order to get into this particular area unnoticed in the first place, the two of them had blended into quite a few crowds as tourists, archaeologists, and other assorted styles and types of humans before finally making their breakaway. It had taken a lot to convince Jabor to play along as well, though in the end he did; granted in a glowering sulky sort of manner, but he did. This sort espionage wasn’t his strong suit, but he had caught along surprisingly well. This however, Faquarl felt, was something his partner in arms here wasn’t going to let him live down.  No use dwelling on it though; they needed to figure this situation out. He tried to shift a bit more, but gave up; unfortunately Jabor took up most of the floor area beneath him, and he had to settle with the less precarious position on his lap.

“I’m guessing by the lack of light, that the opening closed above us.”

“LET ME TRY AND BLAST IT.”

“Jabor wait -” Faquarl protested too late. One detonation aimed upwards and a shower of dust and rocks later, and they were both coughing on the detritus. Somehow, whatever it was made out of froze up their essence even worse.

“…WELL THERE’S NO LIGHT SO. MUST NOT HAVE WORKED.”

“Probably because this was designed with a barrier. Given that it seems perfect for capturing less than careful spirits, such as ourselves.”

“YOU KEEP ON TELLING ME THINGS I ALREADY KNOW.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this anywhere else; must have been experimental. Wonder what happened to the magician behind it that it hasn’t been copied elsewhere…”

“DOESN’T MATTER. WE’RE STUCK.”

“True. I suppose we could make an attempt at climbing up…”

“WHAT ABOUT THE OPENING? ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BLAST IT AGAIN?”

“…On second thought, maybe we should attempt to wear down the opening first, _before_ climbing up.”

“RIGHT NOW?”

“…Could we clear our systems of whatever fell from up there last time you tried first?”

“SOUNDS FAIR,” Jabor said shrugging, feeling the effects of the fallen debris as well. It would take some time getting out of this one.

“On the other hand, our master did give us a week to steal the artifact.”

“HOW MANY DAYS DID WE USE UP ALREADY?”

“Okay I know this happened all of a sudden but your voice is reverberating and that’s not a good –”

“–Oh yeah! Sorry, I got it now.”

“Thanks. So…we’ve only used two days so far. I think we’ll get out of this just fine; what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” They sat there in silence for a while. Faquarl shifted; this new alien rigidity in his essence was hard to ignore.

“What the hell did they do to these rocks anyway?” 

“I don’t know,” he muttered, starting to get annoyed. “Look, this is getting us nowhere. We’ve got like an hour or two, maybe we could try swiving to pass the time or something.”

“…What?”

“I said we could try…swiving?”

“Is that a word you just made up?”

“No it isn’t how do you not know what – oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just…oh.”

“WHAT?!”

“Nothing! It’s just, you know, just wondering. What’s the longest you’ve been summoned? Any on and off periods…?” He was doing his best to seem nonchalant, in order not to make things worse than they already were. That and he was sitting face forward practically on the other’s lap. He didn’t want him to start making any sudden unexpected movements.

“I’M NOT SUMMONED. OFTEN.”

“Oh okay, makes sense, makes sense. So I suppose nobody’s ever brought up. Swiving before?”

“…NO. WELL I MEAN…”

“…Yeah?”

“UH. MAYBE. NOW THAT YOU BRING IT UP.”

“Ah so then –”

“THERE WAS THIS ONE TIME WHEN–YOU KNOW WHAT, NEVERMIND.”

“Wait what?”

“IT’S NOTHING.”

“Jabor.”

“NO BIG DEAL.”

“Okay so –”

“NOTHING AT ALL.”

“You know what, never mind.” Faquarl shifted again uncomfortably; Jabor coughed, looking up vaguely.

“THANKS.”

“…Do you need me to. Explain…? Or…” There was an excruciating silence for a minute.

“…yee eeE S.” Well there was his answer, if it came out only as barely a mumble. Faquarl found himself patting him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Hm, okay then. Never had to do this before, but. First time for everything! And all that. Ha…”

“IT’S NOT FUNNY.”

“I know! Sorry.” He did find it a little funny, but he wiped off his grin real quick.

“Okay, well. Being on earth, on this plane of existence, is painful right?”

“I’m following.”

“So there are many things spirits in the past have done to alleviate things and swiving happens to be one of those ways. Unlike most of the others though, it requires…at least one partner.” He leaned back against the wall on the other side, in an effort to gage Jabor’s reaction. He wasn’t getting much out of him though; he looked thoughtful, if anything.

“...And I thought he was trying to pick a fight...”

“Sorry what?”

“Uh – nothing! So, how does it…work?”

“Oh, well! A swive is like a. Blending? ‘Blending’ is a good word. I mean it’s only advisable if both parties are close enough in level, so that they can, you know, extricate themselves. Differences in personality also helps.”

“...I think I get it now,” Jabor said, nodding slowly.

“I mean, keeping all of that into consideration. I could, I suppose. Show you how it works?” Faquarl asked cautiously. He felt Jabor shift uncomfortably beneath him.

“I mean I don’t mind but. I kind of don’t like the idea of doing that in these forms,” he muttered, poking at his more humanoid, and strikingly unfamiliar face. Faquarl had seen him wear it before in Crete when specifically ordered too, though he wasn’t happy with it. It was his own bit of defiance at the time that even though his face was forced to be human, it was still an Egyptian face, as opposed to a Cretan or even Greek one, much to the chagrin of the particular magician who summoned him. Faquarl had to admit, as a mask it didn’t exactly suit him. He looked down at his own self; his own form was a more familiar mix between his usual chef, and elements of his older Nubian guise. It was true that the current circumstances weren’t exactly ideal.

“Well, I guess you have a point,” he confessed.

“I said I don’t mind though!” Well that answer came quick. A bit too quick. He gave him a curious look, but his expression was unreadable, though he was now mumbling something quietly.

“I mean only if you want to, of course,” Faquarl said, eyebrows raised.

“…Okay.”

“What?”

“I SAID OKAY.”

“Woah there,” Faquarl interrupted, scooting forward. “I heard you.”

“Sorry,” Jabor muttered. He had gone rigid, as Faquarl rested his head on the other’s shoulder.

“You know I could set the mood with some great epithets right about now.”

“DON’T YOU DARE.”

“Who wouldn’t want to be compared though, to sweet and salty nutter butter biscuit?”

“I WILL PUSH YOU AGAINST THAT WALL.”

“Considering what we’ve both agreed to do, that would help matters along actually.”

“I SWEAR I’M GOING TO – oh.”

Faquarl had been pressed close by for a while now, but Jabor was only beginning to notice exactly _how_ close. It felt…nice. The other gave a low hum, and felt it reverberate through him.

“You know, not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but your essence is really packed together quite thickly there,” he said. Jabor gave him a look.

“That supposed to be a compliment?”

“Actually, yes,” Faquarl answered with a snort. He pushed his face into the other’s neck. Jabor felt his even, light breaths once again, and fidgeted. It wasn’t long before his own breathing became in tune.

“…Am I supposed to do something?”

“Well the whole point is to blend with your partner so…just focus on me.”

Jabor gave a nod, suddenly bringing his arms around the other, pulling Faquarl in close. He was aware now of other movements on the higher planes, bringing them in closer. And closer. And well...closer.

His breathing had become heavier than before now, and everything was now much warmer than it had been before. Everything was on the same wavelength. Something cool brushed up against his neck; he felt an upwards rush, and he knew Faquarl was aware of it too. He must have felt it too; somehow on this shared frequency he knew. The thrum he felt now tasted like iron and rough salt. There was a shifting and roiling both outside and within. He was aware now of arms that surrounded him with their suckers splayed out against his skin. He swallowed, not expecting the noise it caused to be so loud. A small laugh, and he felt them tighten, tease, and move.

Were they really arms though? That’s the best way he could describe them honestly. They were like those of an octopus, yet they were also not. He felt so many of them turn cold and taste blue. It was such a cold, cold blue. Yet wherever they met up against him though, they became warm. It was odd how everything he touched now came with a flavor. What an alien cold though, like an ocean without water. The more that was explored though, the more that became natural. There was a rhythm and he found himself bucking against it; the sensations were beginning to work him up. He felt a flitting, and bit down almost instinctively, eliciting a gasp. They forced their way into his mouth.

Suddenly he felt his back bang straight up against the wall. Or was it Faquarl's? There was a reaction like ripples in a pond, with the arching that followed. Faquarl felt the taste of dried, bitter blood claw up into him, caked and unclean. An undignified sound came from the back of his throat. There was the wet dampness of cloying dirt made of hot magma. He reached desperately, and grasped at red; he felt himself shuddering into the surge of it against him. Everything about it heaved up against him and he heard choked whining. He wanted to hear more. So did he. He (they?) started getting greedy. They wanted the same thing.

There was a ringing to the thrum everywhere, and a current that was thrusting down against him faster and faster without warning. Not that there was any need for one. Everything now was converged, but still not to the point where it was enough. The biting coolness was inside of him now, down the back of his throat, in the pit of his stomach. The separation though was so noticeable. In any other circumstance it would no longer be there. It was maddening; he bit at something once again in desperation and heard a yell, before the real explosion really hit him. Everything in him screamed to give in to it, yet he was still held back. All senses were by now overloaded to the point where everything was both disturbingly sharp and uncomfortably hazy. The names would not go away. No matter how hard they tried the meld would not go deep enough to the point where no definitions were felt at all. Their presence was still unmistakably there. One of them keened.

The heat was overwhelming, and the essence surrounding was as thick as it was red. It tried hungrily to take him, and he tasted the bile, the thrum in sync to the point of pain. Pain inflamed him, was inflaming him, and he felt more bites dig in and he felt himself yell as he tried to cave in, but there was of course no caving in. The pangs only got worse and worse, as everything wanted him to just be yet here he still was, yet here _they_ still were, they were still there, _they_ needed to be there, they were not even entirely sure that they were breathing anymore, not that they technically needed to breath, and the full force of that pain was beating up against the wall.

The full force of that pain was beating up against the wall. Was beating up against the wall. There was dust falling everywhere, and it made things worse. Salt against an open wound? It repulsed. Anger. There was anger. And cracking stones. Different stones. Sandstone? Limestone? It doesn’t matter. Didn’t matter.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

The stones were cracking.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

The echo was hollow.

There was a hollow echo.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

They hit up against the stones.

This continued.

This continued until the wall broke.

The wall broke.

They did too; satisfaction.

Eventually though, they had to pull apart.

It was when they did that they realized they had unwittingly found another bandit’s tunnel.

They sat there panting in low silence.


End file.
